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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486386">The Wheel of Westeros Book One: Rise of Jon Part Five</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau'>Thrafrau (annmcbee)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wheel of Westeros [25]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, Wights, Winterfell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:02:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister hijacks Cersei's wildfire, and faces Jon Snow, who shows him the truth. Jon travels to Moat Cailin, where Meera Reed and Swampy Meg show him how to navigate the swamps...and the swamps have a message for him. (This one is very detailed...my last descriptive indulgence before teaching forces me to make it quicker.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark &amp; Sansa Stark, Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister &amp; Jon Snow, Jon Snow &amp; Arya Stark, Jon Snow &amp; Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Val, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Meera Reed &amp; Jon Snow, Petyr Baelish &amp; Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane &amp; Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane &amp; Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark &amp; Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Sansa Stark &amp; Lady Stoneheart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wheel of Westeros [25]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Forgot to note: The concept of the "beast tyrant" comes from the game Gloomhaven, designed by Isaac Childres and published by Cephalofair Games in 2017.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>The Wheel of Westeros</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Book One: Rise of Jon Part Five</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Disclaimer:</em>
</p>
<p><em>This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s </em>A Song of Ice and Fire<em> series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series, </em>Game of Thrones<em>. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only </em>Game of Thrones<em> and </em>A Song of Ice and Fire, <em>but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten.</em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Chapter 1: Jaime</p>
<p>By the time they reached the bastard’s camp along the crystal shores of Long Lake, Jaime had decided he was going to freeze to death. It was fitting he supposed: for his part in the destruction of the most prominent Northern family, he was going to be killed by the North. Bronn was still with him, and in fact, the cold didn’t seem to get to the old scoundrel near as much as it had gotten to Jaime. It made Jaime wonder where Bronn had been raised. Instead, Bronn talked about the boy, young Tyrion, who was born to his lady wife Lollys Stokeworth of half a hundred rapers at the riot of King’s Landing. Apparently, the boy was quite clever, in opposition to his poor simple mother, and more like his namesake, the brother Jaime had lost.</p>
<p>            It was much warmer in the camp, in which a huge number of Northerners and Wildlings had amassed – together, to Jaime’s amazement. They had seen several long caravans of folk trudging south on the King’s Road, expressing very little interest in them as they passed. They were all dressed in heavy layers of fur, men, women and children, covered, wrapped and shrouded so that all one could see was a pair of eyes. Many came with wayns packed with what must have been everything they owned. Sometimes small children and old people sat atop the bundles and trunks that were often tied down with heavy rope. The horses, too, were covered in blankets, and there were goats, mules, cattle, oxen, carts of fowl and plenty of sheep. Hordes of sheep in fact, which indicated that the Umbers’ folk were among the other Stark bannermen. Most impressive were the mammoths – colossal beasts accompanied by men heavily armed and loaded down with chests of valuables, possibly gold.</p>
<p>            Jaime, Bronn and their men were met on the road and escorted to the camp by Robbett Glover, a tall, imposing Northern lord with a face deeply lined by the Northern wind. Thankfully, word had reached the bastard and his men that Lannister soldiers, the Kingslayer among them, were on their way with a massive load of wildfire. Had the Lady Arya not included that Jaime was to be spared until he was brought before the King in the North, Glover would most likely have had is head right then and there. Certainly the man had no kind words for Jaime or Bronn or the two unfortunate men that had been dragged along. Glover’s men took charge of the wagons and confiscated the horses, and the four were reduced to shuffling behind on foot through the slush until they got to the camp. There they waited beneath a massive sentinel pine, guarded by two rough-looking men armed with bow and arrow, that Jaime soon realized were Wildings. Jaime felt some pity for the two young soldiers – just grunts really – that had been sent to carry on north with them. They had surrendered without so much as a whimper to Glover – the cold had beaten them. They were Southron men, not cut out for the true winter.</p>
<p>            When Jaime had ridden up and waylaid the three Lannister wagons and their dangerous cargo, he was wearing his Lannister crimson and gold, polished to a blinding shine, as was Podrick Payne, who acted as his squire. They weren’t waving their banners, but then neither were the wagons of wildfire that were on their way to Winterfell for some nefarious (and completely stupid) mission proposed by Cersei. Jaime had written Cersei of his desertion, but he did not yet know if the message was received or if it had been shared with the likes of Ronnet Connington, for whom Jaime had little love regardless. The feeling was mutual, and Red Ronnet didn’t exactly roll over when Jaime announced that they were to reroute the wildfire north to the Wall instead of west to Winterfell.</p>
<p>            “I wasn’t informed of any such order,” Ronnet had said coldly. “Why didn’t the Queen send a messenger?”</p>
<p>            “She sent me,” said Jaime. “What ails you, Red? I heard you were on your way to the Wall at any rate. This way the Queen kills two birds with one stone.”</p>
<p>            “The Queen pardoned me, and were you truly in her good graces, you would know that,” said Ronnet, unamused. “Taking this payload to the Wall makes no sense. If anything, I think we should have sailed it to Dragonstone and done for young Griff – Aegon. Whoever he is.”</p>
<p>            “I heard you nearly did do for him in the Bite.”</p>
<p>            “That’s right, and if it weren’t for the Queen’s orders, I’d be delivering his burnt corpse.”</p>
<p>            “Nonsense – there’d be nothing left to deliver.”</p>
<p>            “At least tell me you have the Queen’s seal on something. Otherwise, I’m afraid I won’t be deviating from our present course.”</p>
<p>            “There wasn’t time for that, and there’s little enough time for this,” Jaime said, beginning to sweat despite the frozen air. “The Bastard King has gone north to the Wall to finish off the Night’s Watch. This payload needs to get there before he succeeds.”</p>
<p>            “And how is it you’re in possession of such intelligence?”</p>
<p>            Jaime was already debating whether to give the signal to Arya Stark, who was hiding like a squirrel in one of the trees lining the road, no telling which, and Brienne of Tarth with a couple of sworn swords not far behind her. This was never going to work, just as he had tried to tell her at Winterfell. Arya Stark’s head was as hard as her heart, however. The more one tried to convince the Lady of Winterfell not to do something, the more set she was on doing it. Just as he was about to bring her wrath down upon Red Ronnet and his men, however, Ser Bronn of Stokeworth rode forth and inquired what was happening. He caught on with a glance at Jaime’s face, clever rogue that he was, always thinking with the mind of a brigand. When Bronn suggested they camp for the night so a message could be sent to the Queen to confirm, Ronnet insisted and Jaime conceded. The unlucky soldier sent to the Riverlands on that mission had assuredly met a hasty end.</p>
<p>            Jaime slept fitfully in the tent that night, and young Podrick hadn’t slept at all. However, early the next morning, as the first light was streaming between the flaps, in crept Lady Arya, just as pretty as you please. She wore black boiled leather and mail, and over it, a breastplate of shiny steel armor made by Robert’s bastard Gendry, the snarling Stark wolf etched in the center. Jaime bolted upright and ran a finger over the scar that crossed his ear, as he often did when he espied Arya wearing her fighting gear. Her brown hair hung down in a short braid tied, to Jaime’s amusement, with a ribbon of dark red silk. Freckles of blood dotted her forehead and one cheek.</p>
<p>            “What in seven hells do you think you’re doing? Red Ronnet is on quite high alert, as I’m sure you know,” Jaime said in a desperate whisper.</p>
<p>            “Don’t worry about Ronnet Connington,” said Arya, not whispering at all. “Carry out the plan as we said. Today the payload goes north.”</p>
<p>            “The payload is going nowhere until Ronnet sees a seal with a Lannister lion on it, and I’m afraid I neglected to bring a stamp with me.”</p>
<p>            “I said don’t worry about him. The men are already packed and ready and you need to be ready too. Pod, you’re coming back with me. You trust this Bronn fellow I presume.”</p>
<p>            “I don’t trust anyone,” said Jaime.</p>
<p>            Just then, they had heard the voice of Ronnet’s squire outside the tent calling for him. When they heard footsteps approaching, both Jaime and Podrick dove for their swords. Thanks to his sparring with Arya, Jaime had gotten much better at seizing with his left. Suddenly, however, something happened that Jaime still couldn’t explain to himself. There was a fluttering across Arya’s features, as if a wind was blowing the very image of her away like leaves. Then instead of Arya, there stood Red Ronnet Connington, in his red and white doublet and golden breastplate, smiling at them. When Bronn threw open the flap, hollering at Jaime and Pod to get a move on, it was Ronnet he saw standing there, and Ronnet who gave his good morning and exited the tent. Jaime and Podrick looked at each other, mouths agape.</p>
<p>            “What?” Bronn had said.</p>
<p>            After that, “Ronnet” had taken three knights, as well as Podrick “to hostage” south, announcing that they would scout the messenger’s path. Jaime and Ser Bronn, and the remaining two soldiers would take the payload north, parting ways with “Ronnet” at the King’s Road. “Ronnet” was overly cheery that morning, and asked the knights what they knew of the notorious Mercy who had killed so many men of the City Watch in the capital. <em>I hear she skewered their tongues and eyeballs</em>, said one man. <em>I heard she’s a witch and drains their balls for a fertility potion</em>, said another. <em>I heard she’s got tits the size of grapefruits,</em> a soldier said. “Ronnet” got a belly laugh out of that one. <em>I hear</em>, “Ronnet” said at last, <em>she’s one of the Faceless Men</em>. The men seemed impressed at the hypothesis. Jaime had only shuddered.</p>
<p>            The two Wildlings guarding them under the sentinel spoke a few words to each other and laughed in a tongue Jaime didn’t recognize. Savory smells wafted through the camp: fresh fish was cooking over fire with onions and bacon fat. Jaime could hear his own belly rumbling. Finally, a pretty, red-cheeked youth with raven curls atop his head marched over to them, dressed in black leather from head to toe. There were several men like him scattered about the camp who wore black and showed no sigil, like men of the Night’s Watch. The youth told the Wildling guards to take the two soldiers to eat their supper among the servants.</p>
<p>“My lords,” he said. “The King would have you dine with him in his tent. I am Satin Flowers. Please come with me.”</p>
<p>They followed him through the camp, and Jaime was keenly aware of hostile eyes following him. “Satin…that’s a most unusual name. Strange also to find a man of the Reach in a place like this. Are you the king’s squire?”</p>
<p>Flowers shrugged. “If you like, my lord.”</p>
<p>He took them to a large tent very near the shore of the lake, surrounded by giant sentinel pines that shrouded it in darkness. A huge white destrier stood next to the tent, munching on a bale of hay. Only when they were almost to the entrance did Jaime see that the horse was in fact a freakishly enormous white wolf, and the bale of hay was the bloody carcass of some animal. As they neared, the wolf growled a deep, rumbling growl like distant thunder. <em>Gods be good</em>, Jaime thought. Bronn said only, “Fuck me.” Flowers hardly seemed to notice. Jaime was trying to recall what the bastard had looked like, that time long ago when he had gone with Robert and Cersei to Winterfell. He remembered young Bran of course, and the doomed heir of Winterfell, Robb – both of whom looked more like Tullys than Starks. For whatever reason, he couldn’t conjure a single memory of Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard. It was as if he hadn’t been there at all. At the tent, Satin Flowers turned to them and with apologies, took their weapons before announcing them and directing them inside.</p>
<p>The Black Bastard sat at a small table, in the middle of which burned a single candle. He was a slender man, long-legged, and dressed all in black leather like his man Satin. He wore a gleaming steel breastplate of the sort Ned had worn, with mirrored Stark wolves up near the gorget. A huge sword with a white wolf’s head pommel was strapped to his side. His hand lay on the table, and next to it, a massive black raven flapped its wings and gave a hop, squawking <em>King</em>. <em>King. Snow.</em> The bastard’s hair was black and just at the length where it won’t quite stay out of a man’s eyes or suffer being tucked behind an ear. Plastered against his skull with sweat, it shone in the candlelight like obsidian. His eyes were gray like his lord father’s had been, but there was a dangerous flicker in them that reminded Jaime of King Aerys. One eye was surrounded by red scars that made Jaime want to wink when he looked at them. He didn’t wink of course, and bowed instead, as did Bronn, saying “your grace” as respectfully as they could muster. The bastard closed the hand that lay on the table into a fist, opened it, and closed it again, as if squeezing an invisible orange.</p>
<p>“Sit,” the bastard said, in a voice that had the same ominous sound as the wolf’s thunderous growl. <em>Sit, sit,</em> the raven cried.</p>
<p>Jaime and Bronn took the two available chairs, as the tent was appointed very plainly. Besides the table and chairs, and a bench in the corner upon which sat a lantern, a pack, and assorted weapons, there was no other furnishing. There was a bed, but it was more like a cot, and covered only with a couple of flea-bitten furs. There was but two braziers, and a pile of bedrolls in one corner, which suggested some of the bastard’s men slept with him. The tent had a smell too, that was not pleasant but not unpleasant either – an earthy, heady stink. It reminded Jaime of the kennels at the Rock. <em>Hardly seems fit for a king,</em> Jaime thought, and yet he respected it. The bastard was the polar opposite of Robert – that was clear. A moment later, Flowers and another man, younger and less comely with ears like supper plates, brought in a platter of grilled trout, some chunks of hard cheese, a steaming loaf of dark bread with butter, a rasher of bacon, a pile of apple slices and a bowl full of pickles. As soon as it hit the table, the bastard grabbed one fish and tore into it with his teeth, not seeming to care whether he was eating flesh, bone or eyeball. He used his bare hands, as there wasn’t a fork or spoon to be seen, and did the same in tearing off a hunk of bread, which he stuffed whole into his mouth, following it with a finger full of butter. Bronn helped himself next, clearly impressed and amused at the way the bastard attacked his food as if it were his first meal in months. Jaime began to eat as well once he realized he wasn’t going to receive a formal invitation. The fish was quite good – very fresh – and Jaime was starving.</p>
<p>The bastard stared at them as they ate, until it became uncomfortable. Finally, Bronn spoke, wiping his hands on his breeches. “Fantastic scald on that fish, your grace. Well met. That’s one impressive beast you’ve got out there, too,” he said. “A direwolf is it?”</p>
<p>The bastard nodded, and then smiled. The smile seemed to transform his face into that of a human being for the first time. However, when he turned to Jaime, the smile faded again. Jaime didn’t wish to waste the man’s time anymore. Now that he had laid waste to his food, he could get to what he undoubtedly needed to do.</p>
<p>“Your grace,” Jaime said. “I’m sure your sister the princess Arya has written you of my confession. Pray, what now? You have your wildfire…what would you have of me?”</p>
<p>The bastard popped an entire pickle into his mouth and crunched noisily, eyeing Jaime as if imagining the pickle was him. When he swallowed, he said, “I never got a chance to say goodbye to my little brother, you know. There were no real last moments with him, for he lay in his bed unresponsive, and his mother was at his side.”</p>
<p>Jaime nodded. The bastard didn’t need to explain what that meant. Catelyn had undoubtedly despised the boy. “I don’t expect you to believe this, but I am truly sorry.”</p>
<p>“Your brother, at least, is alive,” the bastard said, feeding an apple slice to the giant bird, who squawked, <em>Alive!</em></p>
<p>Jaime’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”</p>
<p>“He is in the employ of Daenerys Targaryen,”</p>
<p>“You have informants on the Dragon Queen?” Bronn asked, leaning forward with interest. Jaime found he could not speak.</p>
<p>“She wrote to me of it herself,” the bastard said. He petted the top of his bird’s head with one finger. It cooed in response. “My brother is alive as well, as you know, but I sent him away again…”</p>
<p>When he saw the bastard’s gray eyes darken with sorrow, Jaime said, “You did the right thing under the circumstances. I’m sure you know that.”</p>
<p>Jon glared deeply into Jaime’s face. “He isn’t the brother I remember.”</p>
<p>“People change as they grow,” Jaime felt obligated to say.</p>
<p>“No, this wasn’t Bran,” said the bastard with a scowl, feeding his bird more apple and caressing the feathers in its chest. After a long pause, he said, “There has lately befallen an infection within the walls of Winterfell – and I believe it was passed to us from the Lannisters.”</p>
<p><em>He’s mad,</em> Jaime thought at first, but then he remembered: Littlefinger.</p>
<p>“Circumstance, in this case, dictates I should execute you,” the bastard continued. “Not just you, Kingslayer, but Lord Bronn as well. The Stokeworths are enemies of the North.”</p>
<p>Jaime and Bronn looked at each other. Bronn’s eyes said, <em>this is your bloody fault.</em></p>
<p>“Now listen, your grace,” Bronn said. “You want wildfire. Leave it to me and I’ll get your fucking wildfire.”</p>
<p>“And how will you do that? In the end, it isn’t up to you, is it?”</p>
<p>“Everything is fucking up to me!”</p>
<p>“Me too.” The bastard closed and opened his fist, and his eyes glinted.</p>
<p>“So that’s your plan as king,” Jaime said. “To kill all enemies of the North?”</p>
<p><em>Kill</em>, the raven said, <em>Kill</em>! Jon smiled at it and then turned back to glaring at Jaime. “Imagine my position, Kingslayer. I must convince thousands of people, half of whom despise me, to call me King and then march south alongside their lifelong enemy. To leave their homes and follow me to the Neck. Do you not wonder how I’ve been able to do that?”</p>
<p>In that moment, the Satin Flowers announced himself, and with the bastard’s invitation, came in along with the big-eared youth, another youth with a sour look, two women fully armed with the sigil of the bear on their breastplates, and wild-looking young boy of perhaps eleven. The youths rolled in a barrel, which they tapped. As tankards were passed around and filled, the bastard introduced the youths as Pyp, a brother of the Night’s Watch and Devan Seaworth, his henchman and steward, and Alysane and Lyanna Mormont, members of his royal guard. The boy was called Ren Sealskinner of the Freefolk, and was his squire. The ale in the barrel, he told them, was brewed by women of the Freefolk, and he invited them to drink. Naturally, Jaime and Bronn hesitated.</p>
<p>“Don’t think I would poison you, my lords,” the bastard said. “I would have offered bread and salt, of course, but why? I think you and I know it means all but horseshit.”</p>
<p>He beckoned the squire Ren to his side, and with an arm around the boy’s shoulder, pointed at Jaime and said, “See there – the Kingslayer!”</p>
<p>The boy’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but it was admiration Jaime saw in his look. Jaime resisted the urge to feel puffed up by the fawning of a child, but took a drink of the ale anyway. It was incredibly bitter and incredibly strong, but there was something appealing in the aftertaste. Bronn took a small drink when he saw Jaime drink, and expressed some satisfaction in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Now, my lords,” the bastard said, standing. “Come with me.” Flowers threw a heavy black cloak lined with fur around his shoulders, and they all departed the tent and walked further northeast along the banks of the lake. Each one carried a brightly blazing torch. The bastard and his men walked in front, and the Mormont women walked behind. “I remember you, Kingslayer, as you were when King Robert came to Winterfell,” the bastard said. “You won’t have remembered me. As the bastard, I was never allowed at the family table during feasts.”</p>
<p>“Time does change things,” Jaime said.</p>
<p>“Indeed. That day I remember thinking, when I saw you, that this is what a king should look like. Time changes much it seems.”</p>
<p>Jaime bristled but said nothing. As he took another drink from his tankard, he heard Bronn whisper, <em>on your signal</em>. Soon they approached a large wagon, far apart from all the others, of the type in which prisoners are often transported. A shabby tarp of skins had been thrown over it, and it was guarded by four men with torches.</p>
<p>“I will not kill you today, Lord Bronn. I need you to return to Queen Myrcella with a full report of what you are about to see,” said the bastard.</p>
<p>“What are we about to see?” Bronn asked.</p>
<p>“What is in this wagon cannot be brought further south. Already, they’ve begun to disintegrate, as they will do in autumn weather. They need cold to stay whole, so we’ve learned by watching and studying them.”</p>
<p>The bastard stopped when they all stood before the covered wagon, and turned to face them. “No Southrons have seen them. Most of the North has, and that is why they march south. My people will do all they can to protect and feed their families, but I believe we can live peacefully with your people. If we can’t live together, we won’t live at all.”</p>
<p>He nodded a command at the guards, who pulled the skins from the wagon, wearing looks of dread and trepidation. He directed Jaime and Bronn to have a look, and they stepped forward to peer between the bars, while the rest of the party stayed way back. At first, they could see only darkness, but then suddenly, a figure lurched forward, snarling and reaching out between the bars. It was a man, to some appearances, but his skin was blackened and rotted, and his eyes glowed an unnatural blue. Bones had broken through the corrupted flesh in some places, including the face, which seemed to hang from the skull in shreds. <em>Fuck</em>, Jaime was aware of Bronn saying as he jumped back.</p>
<p>Jaime could count on one hand the times in his life he had been truly afraid of something. This creature, which screeched and gargled as it clawed madly at them from between the bars, was among the few sights that caused real terror in him. So much of its flesh had fallen from it that it began to squeeze between the bars and in moments was free. Jaime broke into a run, glancing behind him as the wight ran scrambling after. Just as the thing reached him, Satin Flowers plunged the lit end of his torch into its exposed ribcage. Instantly, it collapsed into a pile of bones in the snow.</p>
<p>“What the fuck is that?” Bronn said.</p>
<p>“That, is the fate of every person in this world if we don’t defeat the Others,” the bastard said. He lit the pile of bones on fire and stood watching as it burned. “They were once men and women of the Freefolk. Others were men of the Night’s Watch. This one I once called my brother, Dywen.” He looked incredibly sad for a moment, and very human.</p>
<p>“How many are there?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p>“Hundreds of thousands by the count of the Dragon Queen,” the bastard said. “The Others can be killed by dragonglass and with Valyrian steel. These can be destroyed by fire, and fire alone.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need to burn them completely,” Flowers offered. “Just set them afire and they fall.”</p>
<p>The bastard went over and stood before Jaime and Bronn. “There is only one war that matters. The Great War…and it is here<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>,” he said. “I need Lord Bronn to tell the Queen what you’ve seen. But I need seasoned commanders to build and protect our northern defenses just as much. The Night’s Watch is fading, Ser Jaime, but it’s still alive, and the Wall is only as good as the men guarding it.”</p>
<p>Jaime realized then that he wasn’t about to lose his head. Once he recovered, he watched Jon Snow walk over to his young squire, who had frozen in horror at the sight of the wight. He bent over, and smiling warmly, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Jaime couldn’t hear the words Jon spoke to the Ren Sealskinner, but in moments the boy was calm and beaming with pride as he carried his King’s sword back to the humble tent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 2: Jon</p>
<p>Jon rode in a canoe with Meera Reed and her lady Meg through the swamp waters west of Moat Cailin until the water became so dense with plants and boggy shallows that they had to continue on foot. He had been at Moat Cailin only two days, and his men were still fortifying the old ruins and preparing for the attack on Euron Greyjoy’s Ironborn drones and the others – the icthyoid men that Meera called “deep ones.” Jon was unfamiliar with the swamps of west of the Moat, as were his generals, and he wanted to get a sense of them. Soon they would march upon the Rills, where an army quite unlike any the North had seen were attempting to retake Barrowton and the west territories. Jon had managed to get most of his people south to the Neck or to White Harbor, but now he was faced with the task of rescuing the Rills. If he were victorious, many Northern Lords who were not too keen on his rule would happily accept him as king, for the Greyjoy army was fast becoming more hated than the Freefolk had ever been.</p>
<p>            Lady Meera tied the canoe to the remains of a cottonwood that looked to have been struck by lightning long ago, the trunk empty of branches and crowned with small white toadstools at its jagged top. Jon’s raven, King, flew from his shoulder and perched high atop an old paperbark.</p>
<p>            “I imagine King will love it here,” Meera said when she saw Jon’s concerned upward gaze. “The swamp is a heaven for birds.”</p>
<p>            “Not so for wolves,” said Jon.</p>
<p>            Meera smiled. “Now you see why you had to leave him at the camp.”</p>
<p>            Jon nodded, but he meant himself as much as Ghost. There was something disturbing about the ruins of the old castle, and even more disturbing about the swamps in the Neck. Meera said that Greywater Watch had even more secret passages and hideouts than what she was about to show him here, but Moat Cailin seemed to be keeping some other kinds of secrets. Since they arrived, Jon had felt on edge. His hair seemed to stand constantly on end, and he hadn’t felt like eating. While his men slept, he crept about the ruined towers alone, accosted by the smells of death and disease, of the Ironborn and the Ryswells and Boltons. Something else too – an ancient, demonic odor. He couldn’t place it, and at some point, Satin had come to find him. He’d gone back to bed, but not to sleep. The moon was full again, and the peeping of the frogs and night birds was deafening.</p>
<p>            He slogged behind the women, often in a foot of cloudy, fetid water, and other times in soaked grasses or cold mud. They all wore boots of beaver to protect their feet from the icy water, though compared to the snow and ice at the Wall, it wasn’t so bad. Meera Reed and her lady had arrived early the previous morning, and swore their blades to Jon’s service. Howland Reed, the Lord of the Crannogmen, had sent his only daughter to his side, hoping she might earn a place in his royal guard. Jon owed Meera for his brother’s life, so he was happy to take her on. Meg, or “Swampy Meg” as she was known, was a member of the Hollow Hill Brotherhood who had been raised among the Crannogmen. She went to Graywater Watch to make her intent known to Lord Howland, and was sent to serve Meera as she served the King in the North. She told Jon that circumstances dictated that Hollow Hill bend the knee to Griff, but they had pledged to fight alongside Jon in the war with the Others. This pleasantly surprised Jon, who knew of these outlaws only through Arya. <em>We serve the Lord of Light first</em>, Meg had said. <em>But in the Great War we will follow your command.</em></p>
<p>            The swamp made Jon very uneasy. His ears actually hurt from the noises it made: insects buzzing, chirruping, ticking and tweeting. Herons and egrets groaned to each other, coots and grebes squawked as they paddled through the narrow eddies, wrens trilled and flycatchers warbled in the trees, red-wing blackbirds screeched in the reeds. Every manner of frog could be heard ribbiting and croaking, some high and shrill, others low and bubbling. Reeds of every variety, some long and flat and browned by autumn, others blood-red and stiff like tubes, rustled noisily, sometimes even when there was no wind. The leaves of the cottonwoods chattered loudly before they fell. It felt as if Jon’s ears would pull themselves right off his head.</p>
<p>At last, they came upon a giant tree with a nest of exposed roots rising up out of the swamp that spanned more than six feet from side to side. Jon had to squeeze himself between the roots to get into the hiding place within, while Meera and Meg slid in easily. Inside was quieter, but very wet, and Jon nearly put his hand on a snake. When they went back out into the cacophony of the open swamp, he tried to make some conversation with the women, though that had never been his strong point.</p>
<p>            “Tell me more about these deep ones, lady Meera,” he said. “What do you know about them?”</p>
<p>            “Very little, as to where they came from. I can only assume the sea…”</p>
<p>            Meera claimed they were stronger and bigger than men, though they stood, usually on two legs, and had faces that seemed human-like. They had fins, and what appeared to be gills, and monstrous sharp teeth. The Ironborn who fought with them seemed hardly human themselves. None of them spoke or made any sound, and their eyes looked to be made of milk. Meera spoke with little fear, and in fact seemed to enjoy talking about them. She wasn’t much bigger than she was when Jon last saw her – a tiny thing, but strong and very brave. She carried a three-pronged spear along with her knife and a leathern shield. Jon sent a message to the smithy at Winterfell to make her a new shield with the lizard lion sigil, and a greathelm that wasn’t rusted. She was very pretty, with eyes the color of a frog’s back and thick brown curls that she knotted at the top of her head.</p>
<p>            The next hideout was a massive gum tree that had somehow turned upside down, so the branches grew out and down instead of up, and the whole thing was draped in ghostskins that waved in the slightest wind. The trick was to duck under the ghostskin as the wind caught it, and then dive between the upside down branches where one could find a natural shield from enemies. It was cramped for Jon, but still served. When they climbed out again, Jon asked Meera about something that had been bothering him for some time.</p>
<p>“My lady, be truthful – did you see a change in my brother Bran? Before you came to the Wall?”</p>
<p>            Meera sighed. “It was since we left the cave under the old tree, where we found the Three-Eyed Raven…the old one. The wights came and then Hodor and Summer…”</p>
<p>            She trailed off and stopped where she stood. Jon stepped up to her and laid a hand on her little shoulder. “I’m different as well,” she said. “I know I am. Sometimes I dream about them – terrible dreams. Makes me wish I didn’t dream at all.”<br/>            “Don’t say that,” said Meg. “Dreams are a portal to the truth.”</p>
<p>            “I have those dreams, too, my lady,” Jon said.</p>
<p>            “You dream of the wights, your grace?” Meg asked.</p>
<p>            “And the Others…and other things.” He didn’t tell her about the dreams in which he became a wolf, in which fangs sprung from his gums, wiry hairs grew over his body and claws burst through the tips of his fingers – and he dined on human flesh.</p>
<p>            Another hiding place looked to be an enormous beaver dam, and yet another looked to be a massive heron’s nest in a gum tree. Both were no longer occupied, but were large enough inside to fit three Crannogmen each, and two of a regular-sized man. A humongous upturned tree with roots covered in ferns and bright orange fungus like fingers that glowed, could be a foxhole. By pulling back a bunch of the old exposed root matter, one could enter a chamber that not only provided shield, but a look out between fern fronds. All of these places were revealed as they crept through shadowy passages through tall cattails and the long wavy branches of she-oaks and willows, under massive root systems of ancient maples, or between the fronds of giant ferns.</p>
<p>            “Look there,” Meg said suddenly, pointing. “That’s the flower that looks like a cock!”</p>
<p>Sure enough, a flower grew out of an old stump sticking out of the water that looked exactly like a man’s cock with a white shaft and a head covered in tiny yellow flowers. They all laughed and kept going on a tour of the swamp’s secrets, Meg pointing out every fungus or flower that looked like a cock along the way. Meg would have been beautiful, but for a strange skin condition – the consequences of life among poison-filled wetlands – that covered her with cloudy green patches all over. Her lips were completely green, and green birthmarks drifted across her face. Even some of her teeth were green. She had lovely amber eyes though, and long shiny ink-black hair as straight as arrows. Instead of braiding it or knotting it, she let it flow like liquid over her back, and kept it out of her eyes with a leather strap that had beads of polished stone hanging from it. The beads clicked and clacked in time with the bugs in the swamp. She wore a moss-green tunic and mail with a red leather jerkin and ruddy moleskin breeches that hugged her thighs. Jon had caught himself desiring her more than once, green teeth and all.</p>
<p>Jon couldn’t get used to this constant wanting – an urge to breed with every female who crossed his path. <em>It’s who you are now</em>, Satin had said when he confided in him. <em>You’re young, besides…I think you forget that.</em> Jon worried about camp followers, however. That was something he had never experienced in the Watch. As the king and commander of an army, he had to refuse offer after offer, and might not always be able to, if he hadn’t taken to making his main stewards and captains sleep in his tent with him. He worried about them, too. It was always a danger, especially with Satin, whose looks always turned a camp follower’s head. As much as his Night’s Watch vows had been difficult to keep, there was a reason for them. These women, who followed their camp from the Wall to White Harbor and beyond just wanted to feed themselves, but many of them left camp with babies in their bellies – more bastards to be named Snow. It made Jon sad, and the thought of bringing a bastard baby home, to be despised by his wife, made him sadder.</p>
<p>Meg continued to point out every phallic thing that grew out of the swamp, including some of the stumps that jutted from the water, which mostly looked like old rotten teeth. There were living trees, too: gum trees, tea trees with their bristly flowers, and she-oaks, mostly draped over with ghostskins. There was a hanging moss that in summer was bright green and glittery, Meera said, but that had all turned black with the onset of winter. Another called “witch’s hair” hung in great clumps of brown and gray. Moss covered everything below too, including rocks and stumps and dead logs, upon which crawled many turtles, venomous snakes and crayfish. Meg was a collector of poisons, and she produced a spear at the first snake she saw. If it were a copperhead or emerald-back, she could milk them for her collection. Meera pointed out that the fishing spider lived there too, and its poison could put a horse to sleep for days. There were mink and muskrats as well, giant dragonflies and fairy flies with glowing tails. Through the boggy stink of dead plant matter and swamp gases, Jon could smell an explosion of life everywhere. Nowhere else in the North was there such a concentration of living things.</p>
<p>“Have either of you heard the story of the Moat Witch?” Meera asked as they walked over a long patch of spongy grasses. Jon marveled at some of the plants around them: sundew that either looked like keys with red spikes, or looked like green worms with purple hairs. Bladderworts with yellow blossoms that looked like helmets with horns. Climbing boneset plants with blossoms that looked like little arm bones.</p>
<p>“Of course I’ve heard it. She’s the one who eats people, yes?” Meg said.</p>
<p>“I’ve never heard of this…do tell,” Jon said, laughing. The sundew had a sweet smell that was overpowered by the rotting stink of the pitcher plants, long fleshy flowers with veiny red and green cups that surrounded the base to catch insects.</p>
<p>“She travels through the swamp in her hut that moves like Graywater watch – but she doesn’t eat people. If you touch her, you’ll stink forever, and the lips of her…you know…are so long she can use them like a whip.”</p>
<p>Jon doubled over laughing at that. Meg was using a small knife to cut stalks of purple loosestrife for her collection. “I heard she ate people,” she said.</p>
<p>            Finally, they reached an island – a dry clearing in the midst of the swamp – where they could rest and have something to eat. Cottonwoods covered the place, and woodpecker and yellow-bellied little flycatchers fluttered and hopped everywhere. The ground was covered with a golden carpet of cottonwood leaves, and the air was more fragrant. There was every manner of mushroom: some with shiny purple tops, some with tops of bright red with white flecks, some that looked like black brains. Those made Jon think of Lord Crowl’s brain, which he’d fed to the Skagosi girl at the Wall. Another fungus looked like a star with a bulb in the middle that spat out puffs of some powder when stepped on. Meg collected several of these, and warned against breathing in too much of the spores. <em>If you don’t like your dreams now…</em>she said. They ate some black plums and hard cheese and drank from skins full of mild ale. Meera pointed out over the water where a long log lay, a muskrat skittering across it. Two feet out, she told them, was a drop off that would fool most people. One could use a reed to breathe, and then hide beneath the water while enemies waded around them.</p>
<p>            Suddenly, the swamp became completely quiet for the first time since their hike began. Meera and Meg wore looks that said that couldn’t be good. Then Jon heard a voice whisper,<em> wolf king, son of winter, son of fire...</em></p>
<p>            “Do you hear that?” Jon asked the women, who sat frozen with half-eaten plums in hand.</p>
<p>            “Oh no…” Meg said. “I knew I should have told you to step away when I was harvesting those star-spores.”</p>
<p>            “No,” Meera said. “He hears something…something real!”</p>
<p>            She drew her knife, and Meg and Jon followed. Suddenly, at least a dozen lizard lions appeared, emerging between the trees from out of the water. To their horror, twelve lizard lions became twenty, and they reached for their bows. The lizard lions grew close, but then stopped, and parted. Then appeared a sight so strange that Jon thought maybe he did inhale some spores, except that Meg and Meera saw it too. It was a shabby old wooden hovel, grown over with mosses, atop a pair of legs. The legs were like a lizard’s, and they moved very quickly, until the hovel reached a few feet away. Then they hunched, and the hovel rested on the ground.</p>
<p>            A woman’s voice sang out from inside the hovel, the same voice Jon had heard. <em>Come in wolf king! </em>Jon looked at Meera, who nodded as if to say, go. Meg warned him against it, but Jon heeded Meera. He took his bow, and his knife, and approached the door of the hovel slowly.</p>
<p>            “Come in, wolf king!” It was a woman’s voice, and kind.</p>
<p>            Jon entered. Inside, a woman sat at a little stove, wearing a rough spun gown with an apron the color of bluebells. The air smelled of the biscuits Old Nan used to bake at Winterfell. The woman was pretty, young, but with the air of one who has lived a long time. Her hair was long and dark, not grey, and her eyes were kind instead of flinty, but Jon thought he smelled his old wet nurse. Was this Nan’s ghost?</p>
<p>            “Who are you, lady?”</p>
<p>            “Listen, my beloved,” she said. “I don’t have much time. By the time these biscuits are done, I must be gone, and they are done when the sand runs out of the glass.” She pointed to an hourglass rapidly draining on the top of the stove. Her words didn’t seem to match up with the movement of her lips. She stood and walked over to Jon, and laid a hand upon his cheek.</p>
<p>            “Are you a spirit? Where did you come from?” Jon asked. Her hand was very cold, but he liked how it felt. Her eyes were the color of stone.</p>
<p>            “Beloved, you must draw the enemy to the swamp. Here you will command the beasts. I see you running from your power, but hear this: only magic can defeat magic.”</p>
<p>            “I cannot warg during battle…not while I fight.”</p>
<p>            “You are a warg, child, but you are more than that. You can summon an army from this swamp, from the forests, from the skies.”</p>
<p>            “An army of beasts?”</p>
<p>            “The Gods have granted that you will live until the world is free and the Great Other is driven out. He is dead, and only the dead can face him…here, kiss my hand.”</p>
<p>            She held out a pale hand, and Jon took it gently and kissed it upon the knuckles. “Tell me your name,” he said, but the sand at the top of the hourglass had trickled completely into the bottom, and the woman and her house disappeared, leaving Jon standing on a carpet of cottonwood leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Benioff, David and D.B. Weiss, <em>Game of Thrones</em>, Season 7, Episode 7: “The Dragon and the Wolf,” HBO, 2017.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Book One: Rise of Jon Part Five continued</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Queen Sansa begs Lady Stoneheart for her brother's life. Arya puzzles over what to do with Val and with a strange artifact sent to her by Sam Tarly. Jon battles an army of deep ones and Ironborn mutes with a powerful magic of his own.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3: The Queen of Tears</p>
<p>In the candlelight, Lady Stoneheart looked almost like Catelyn Stark again. Sansa had ordered her ladies to put out the sconces and braziers so that only a single chandelier lit the salon, along with the few pillar candles placed around the musty velvet couch upon which she sat. She had chosen little Elly Mooten, Bess and Aly Bracken, and Emphyria Vance to be the ladies in waiting who would travel north with her, and the rejected girls hadn’t been able to muffle their sobs. It was an easy choice however, thanks to Randa Royce’s efficient spying. Sansa had called the contenders into the audience chamber soon after deciding that she and Harrold would in fact be returning to Winterfell. <em>But I never touched him,</em> Barb Bracken had dared to whine. <em>No, but you stood watch as your sister Cat disgraced herself, </em>Randa had replied. Sansa had added,<em> Consider yourself fortunate that your only answer for this treason is life with my lord uncle at The Twins.</em></p>
<p>Harrold had begged not to go back to Winterfell (and Jon). He had pleaded. He had gone on and on about how lovely Riverrun was. It was small, but so was Ironoaks, where he’d been raised. It was cozy, he said, and the sound of the waterwheel helped him sleep deeply at night. How nice<em>,</em> Sansa thought. That he could sleep. Sansa rarely did. The Godswood was lovely, on that they agreed. Thoros and his Brotherhood had left the Weirwood intact in honor of the North, and in addition to its bright red leaves, the redwoods and elms were ablaze with autumn color, the goldenrods and purple asters were in full bloom, and the sunflowers were as high as the Blackfish’s head. Sansa often sat in the sandstone former-sept in the wood for hours, staring into the fire of Rh’llor that now burned permanently inside it, bending the ancient rainbow of light with its smoke. Other times, she stared at the sorrowful face of the heart tree. Neither spoke to her or offered any comfort. Harrold tried, but quickly learned that the best way to comfort the Queen was to leave her well enough alone.</p>
<p>He was especially fond of how near Riverrun was to many towns, and by the best-kept road in the Kingdoms. The River Road was riddled with ruts filled with muddy water now, but compared to the condition of most roads in Westeros, it was very easy passing.</p>
<p>“Easy for you to find yourself in a brothel it sounds like to me,” Sansa had snapped at him in their last conversation.</p>
<p>“For your ladies to find you what <em>you need</em>. For your men-at-arms to find provisions,” Harrold had said, and shook his head pitifully. “Do you even understand how much these accusations hurt me? Do you care at all that my heart breaks every time you say such things?”</p>
<p>Sansa let out a long breath. “I’m tired Harrold.”</p>
<p>“I know you are.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been working very hard to engineer our kingdom, and I do appreciate it…” Sansa began to weep. She broke into tears several times a day it seemed.</p>
<p>Harrold took her hand and kissed it. “I do it for you, my love, my queen…” He slowly drew her to him and allowed her to lay her head on his shoulder. He had been practicing in the yard with Lothor Brune, and smelled of damp leaves and the river. “This is why I think we should stay here, and not return to Winterfell. You are far too tired make that journey. You know I’m right. Stay here, as Lord Baelish suggests, and let the North come to us.”</p>
<p>“No…I can’t. I want to go home. I can’t stay here…”</p>
<p>“Oh my poor queen, my darling, what can I do to make you see?” He kissed the top of her head and held her tight. Sansa had no energy left to push him away.</p>
<p>Harrold was trying, perhaps, as he said, but the one thing Sansa wanted him to do (or rather, not to do) he couldn’t manage. He left her alone when they lay in their bed, only offering his touch if she seemed to be asking for it, and not forcing her, as that could be dangerous for him now. His needs were unrelenting, however, and by the time Sansa had determined she would return home, his own actions had decided the matter of her new ladies.<em> He forced me…I swear</em>, poor Rhialta Vance had cried. <em>I believe you,</em> was all Sansa could say. <em>I will pray to the Lord of Light that you may you regain your honor in the service of Lady Roslin.</em></p>
<p>She had dismissed all of her ladies for now, with the exception of Randa, who sat holding her hand as her mother and the others entered the solar and stood in the grim light of the hanging candles. Lady Stoneheart came with Lord Thoros by her side, and Petyr was flanked by handsome Byron and that feisty little man Shadrich. Her uncle Brynden the Blackfish came only with a couple of guards whose names Sansa did not know, and he left them outside. She thanked them for coming, trying as she did to look upright and regal. Randa had worked all day on her hair, and she wore a newly made long-sleeved brocade gown in Tully red with dancing fish done in beading on the bodice, and silk fringe that dangled from the elbows. The dressmakers had done up a number of gorgeous gowns in red, though most of them were too loose on the queen now. She wore her fish crown of silver and gold atop the auburn twists that Randa had wrought. It felt like a stone upon her head.</p>
<p>“I have come to a decision, which I would hope you as my loyal subjects will respect,” she announced. There was a chorus of emphatic of-course-your-graces, coming from all but the Lady, whose red eyes burned ruthlessly. “I have determined that I and King Harrold shall return forthwith to Winterfell, to claim the ancestral home of my father Lord Eddard. I would take Lord Baelish and his men with me, and Lord Thoros, that we may bless the walls of my childhood home with the light of Rh’llor.”</p>
<p>Thoros’s cheeks glowed. “Why, your grace, it would be an honor of which I am hardly deserving.”</p>
<p>“Forgive me, my queen,” the Blackfish said. “But is your grace’s health up to the Northern winter?”</p>
<p>“A fine point, my lord,” Petyr chimed in. “My queen, Lord Thoros has spoken of an oncoming storm that he’s seen in his flames, and there is word of attacks upon the Neck by Ironborn armies. Would it not be wiser to remain in the safety of Riverrun?”</p>
<p>Petyr’s eyes were pleading. He had become fawning and despondent at intervals since returning from that farce of a festival at Fairmarket, where he had managed to start a holy war, the point of which was still unclear to Sansa. With every passing day he spent in the presence of Sansa’s mother, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes grew deeper and the flesh of his cheeks grew more flaccid. Sansa would feel sorry for him, if it hadn’t lately become clear to her that what happened to Catelyn Stark was as much his fault as Walder Frey’s.</p>
<p>“The attacks upon the Neck are precisely the reason I need to go North, my lord. The outcome of those skirmishes will require my attention. If Jon Snow should perish, our people will be in great need of aid and leadership. Should he be victorious, I must treat with him immediately.”</p>
<p>“Pray, your grace, why not let your half-brother come to you, along with your people who are marching south…” Petyr began, but then the Lady hissed at him, and he stopped cold. Sansa could see him go pale even in the dim light. Randa squeezed her hand.</p>
<p>The Lady brought her fingers to her neck and held the open wound of her throat closed before she spoke in a rattling, throaty croak. “The bastard must die. Send the Knights of the Vale after the battle with the Ironborn. If the bastard survives, he must be brought down. Bring him here, that he may burn!”</p>
<p>Sansa swallowed. “Lord Baelish, Ser Byron, Ser Shadrich, Thoros…please leave us. Uncle, if you and my lady mother would stay.”</p>
<p>“My queen, if I could…” Petyr again began.</p>
<p>“Leave us, Petyr. Now,” Sansa insisted.</p>
<p>Petyr glanced fearfully at Lady Stoneheart, but then obeyed. Sansa released Randa’s hand then and rose. She stepped closer to her mother, and sucked in a breath as the greenish puddle of sodden and torn flesh that had once been the face of Catelyn Stark grew clearer. Tears filled Sansa’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Mother, I beg you…as your queen, and your daughter who loves you with all my heart. Let my brother live.”</p>
<p>“Rickon and Bran do live,” rasped the Lady.</p>
<p>“I mean Jon. My brother Jon.”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Sansa took a knee before her mother, and clutched the fold of her gray wool robe, letting the tears cascade over her cheeks. “He need not die. Rickon will be Lord of Winterfell. We are a family now. Again. Rickon and Bran and Me and Arya. Together. Everything is all right now don’t you see?”</p>
<p>She reached out and took her mother’s brittle gray hand. It felt like a dead fish that had dried in the sun. The Lady shook her head and again hissed, “No.”</p>
<p>“Mother, please, allow me to ride north and speak to Jon. He will step down. I know he will. He wants only my safety and to rebuild our home. He has a wife. A child…”</p>
<p>“He wants the North. <em>Your North</em>.”</p>
<p>“We only have the North because he fought to win it back for us. All would have been lost without him and his Wildlings…it’s the truth!”</p>
<p>“He sat upon the Wall as your brother and father died.”</p>
<p>“He avenged Robb and Ned,” the Blackfish spoke then, in a strong voice that made Sansa nearly jump out of her skin. She rose and looked at her uncle, who stood at a distance behind his nieces. “You want to know how Ramsay Bolton died?” Brynden continued. “Jon Snow killed him. Not with a sword – with his hands. He pounded the bastard’s face to shredded meat. Then he pissed on him. I saw it with these eyes. And after that, he fed Roose Bolton to his hounds.”</p>
<p>A long curdled hiss arose from Lady Stoneheart’s throat. The Blackfish walked up and stood directly behind her. “Would you like to know what Jon Snow said to Roose Bolton? Before he watched the hounds have their feast? He said, ‘your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.’<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> Then he wept. Then the leech lord was torn to pieces, and he stopped weeping and licked his lips.”</p>
<p>Lady Stoneheart stepped slowly over to a window, and seemed to stare out into the night, where the moon waited patient and quiet.</p>
<p>“He protected me,” Sansa said. “He will protect me, I swear it.”</p>
<p>“Go then, and let him have the Dreadfort,” the Lady said, in a voice that was almost like a mother’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 4: The Lady of Winterfell</p>
<p>Arya did not envy Jon Snow. Lately, she felt the weight of what her brother (and before that her father) dealt with as wardens of a kingdom. The administrative duties were never-ending, and she could hardly find a moment for her needlework with Lady Brienne in between trying to make sure laborers were paid, larders were filled, and fires were burning. That, however, wasn’t what was making her bite her nails to the quick. Counting coppers could get dull, that was true – but after the two ravens she had received that week, dull sounded downright pleasant. Oh that her only conundrum was a matter of some broken eggs or a missing bale of hay!</p>
<p>            Brienne of Tarth looked particularly agonized over Sansa’s letter, in which she claimed to accepted a crown as Queen of the “Northern Territories,” which did in fact include the North. The Hound had shaken his head and heaved a great sigh when he read the letter, which he still held in his grimy hand.</p>
<p>            “We’ve got to get her out of there,” he said. “She stays, she’ll go mad.”</p>
<p>            “We who? I need my best fighters here. We’re vulnerable enough without Jon and his men,” said Arya. She snatched the letter away from him and tossed it upon the desk.</p>
<p>             “Let me go and get her myself,” Sandor said. “She’ll come with me if I ask her.”</p>
<p>            “This time you mean,” said Arya. “No. It’s <em>Jon’s</em> queen who needs an escape escort. When I send Val away, I need someone I can trust with her.”</p>
<p>            Arya wasn’t at all sure Val would go anywhere, but she had sent Mya to fetch the queen and would soon find out. In the meantime, Sansa’s wasn’t the only letter making them scratch their heads. Samwell Tarly, a former brother of the Night’s Watch now novice of the Citadel, had sent a mysterious package contained an ancient-looking warhorn banded with brass that was broken clean in half. Along with the horn came a letter that read:</p>
<p>
  <em>One side is like the Land of Always Winter</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The Other side could be anything when the hinge opens wide</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Keep the two halves apart – nothing</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But join them? That’s a sticky part.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Is it better to bear the silence we know?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Than to hear the sound that could not be described except by our dreams?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I am too craven – you, Jon, must decide </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>(this time)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Whether to put what’s been broken back together…</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>            Arya had already held the thing together and tried blowing it, but the old horn was useless. Neither Brienne nor Sandor could make heads or tails of it. Mya thought it was bad business and that Arya ought not have even read the letter.</p>
<p>            “Oh I could just rip my sister’s nips off!<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a>” Arya said, pounding her fists into the old desk.</p>
<p>            “Seven hells, girl…” the Hound chuckled.</p>
<p>            “She never loved Jon. I know she never did.”</p>
<p>            “I’m sure that’s not true,” Brienne offered.</p>
<p>            “Oh it is,” Arya said, nostrils flaring. “She never loved me either. Because he was a bastard and I wasn’t a <em>lady</em>.”</p>
<p>            “Stop talking like that,” Sandor said.</p>
<p>            “I’ll bet she was thinking about getting that crown on her own head the moment Stannis put it on Jon’s…”</p>
<p>            Arya stood up so fast she knocked over the horn of ale that sat on the desk, spilling it over Sansa’s letter. She used every curse she knew, yelling louder and louder, before Sandor came over and gently pushed her out of the way, wiping up the mess with the sleeve of this robe. Arya stomped over to the window, sucking in angry breaths and grinding her teeth.</p>
<p>            “Perhaps I should form a party…go and parlay with Lady Sansa,” Brienne said.</p>
<p>            Sandor came and stood behind Arya, placing his huge hand on her shoulder. Arya was surprised at how comforting it felt. “Maybe your sister does want to be queen,” he said. “Maybe she’s terrified of what will happen to her if she isn’t. For some women, the difference between being queen and not is the difference between life and death.”</p>
<p>            “That’s not true. Sansa’s in no danger as long as she stays with us.”</p>
<p>            “Maybe she doesn’t see that because she isn’t home…and you know what’s in Riverrun. You saw Mother Merciless.”</p>
<p>            Arya remained silent, feeling that if she opened her mouth to speak, she would cry. A knock came at the door, and Mya announced the queen. Arya dismissed Brienne and Sandor.</p>
<p>            “<em>Let me go to her</em>,” the Hound said one more time before leaving.</p>
<p>            “We’ll speak of it later,” said Arya, bowing. “Your grace, please sit.”</p>
<p>            Val came in and seated herself before the desk. Arya told her of the contents of Sansa’s letter, now that it was too soaked with ale to let her read it herself. The queen <em>could</em> read, Jon had said. Val looked more lovely than usual, her cheeks fuller and red, and her golden braid was ever thick and shiny. She had made herself a new tunic of rabbit and sable to accommodate her growing belly. Now that her pregnancy was becoming very visible, she held herself even more proudly than usual, seeming to enjoy the jealous glances of the Northern ladies who were housed in the castle. She often stroked her belly in circles as she walked along through the courtyard, wearing a satisfied smile.</p>
<p>            “I think this castle is as far south as I prefer to go,” Val said. “Jon can’t want his child raised among bog people.”</p>
<p>            “We enjoy the bog people, your grace. Anyway, it’s only until Jon puts our sister back in her place. Won’t be long, I assure you.”</p>
<p>            “Why mightn’t we go to Bear Island instead? Seems safe from the dead as well as traitorous sisters…what’s that?”</p>
<p>            Arya realized she had been fondling the horn Samwell had sent. The queen made her a bit nervous, she had to admit. She tried to shrug it off, but Val wasn’t one to be deterred, and Arya ended up showing her Sam’s letter.</p>
<p>            “Well? Can you make sense of it?” Arya asked. “Speaking frankly, your grace, I think Lord Tarly may be struggling at the Citadel. There are rumors of an evil presence in Oldtown, namely Euron Greyjoy.”</p>
<p>            Val’s eyes drifted back and forth over the odd letter, but she said nothing.</p>
<p>            “Your grace?”</p>
<p>            Val looked up, frowning slightly. “This Tarly is a friend of Jon’s?”</p>
<p>            “Well, I suppose so, your grace, I…” Through the window, Arya could hear a commotion in the courtyard. She excused herself to look outside, worried that there would be another fight. She had to play peacemaker from time to time – that was the reality of the Freefolk and Northerners living together. But this was only a spooked horse that was rearing, though Arya couldn’t quite tell at what.</p>
<p>            “If you don’t mind, my lady,” Val said. “I’d like to go and consider your proposal over a good nap.”</p>
<p>            Arya turned and bowed, seeing that the horse had been calmed and led away. “Of course, your grace. I hope you’re feeling well.”</p>
<p>            “Quite well. Just in want of rest. Good day now.” The queen patted her belly and was escorted out by Mya Stone, who would walk her to her chambers. It occurred to Arya that they should move her and Jon into the Lord’s chambers after all. Sansa and Harrold certainly hadn’t earned their keep there. She could get Alys on it, Mya could help, and Podrick Payne and the Hound could do the heavy lifting…</p>
<p>            In the midst of these thoughts, Arya looked down at the desk and saw that the horn was gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Chapter 5: The Beast Tyrant</p>
<p>“They’re still coming sire,” Devan Seaworth said. “They’ll soon be over the ridge.”</p>
<p>            Ser Devan Seaworth was hurt, though he tried to hide it. He’d been picked up and thrown several yards by one of the fish men, and would have been torn to pieces if it hadn’t been for a perfectly thrown spear that pierced it through its enormous neck. The deep ones used spears, but otherwise relied on their fins, claws and teeth a great deal. Jon had seen many of his bannermen die painfully at their bare hands – if hands were what you could call them. Arrows didn’t stop them much, and even hacking off their limbs seemed only to slow them down, as Jon had found when he took the legs from a number of them. One of these had kept trudging along, managing to score Jon’s armor in a couple of places with the razor-like fins that extended from its forearm. He’d been bitten through his cuirass by another one, who he had hacked at over and over before it finally expired, jets of blackish blood spewing from its mouth and throat. Poison arrows had little to no effect on them, though the Crannogmen did manage to take out a number of the Ironborn that way.</p>
<p>            These Ironborn were just as formidable as any of their kind – truly skilled archers and hand-to-hand fighters as was to be expected, even in the deepest parts of the swamps. Their arrows were the reason Jon had fitted Ghost with wolf-sized cuirass constructed of leather studded with steel, and a kind of gorget made of a couple of leather panels like wings at the side of the wolf’s neck. Any other wolf would have thrashed and bit at anything like a garment being imposed on them, but Ghost <em>was</em> Jon and Jon <em>was</em> Ghost. For Jon, his armor had become an extension of his own skin, and soon Ghost would feel the same. By the same token, however, Jon had taken to removing his helmet at times during battle. When he wore it, he had the urge to nod and shake it off, and he suspected that was his wolf in him. It was incredibly dangerous to do so during this battle however, as the deep ones could crush a skull with their bare hands.</p>
<p>            The swamp was an advantage over the Ironborn in other ways, and Howland Reed’s troops had set a number of traps using tripwires and cut logs that had done in Ironborn and deep ones alike by the half dozen. With the various secret passages and hiding places, they could often steer these men into places where they couldn’t fight as they normally would. Still, they were taking losses. Jon had lost Howd, Harle (the handsome), Fulk, Tim Stone, Artos Flint and Brandon Norrey the younger among the Freefolk, Night’s Watch and Northern bannermen fighting for him. The eeriest of all was that none of these Ironborn men spoke, and they all had eyes the same milky pale blue color as Roose Bolton. Plus, they didn’t seem to have pupils. Certainly they weren’t blind, as their arrows clearly showed, but something was different. The Crannogmen had set up some snares in hopes of capturing some of these men and these deep ones. It was unknown whether any of these fish men could speak, but if they could, it might be one way to find out more about what Euron Greyjoy was planning.</p>
<p>            Jon’s men had been driven back further and further into the swamp, and the situation was dire. Jon ordered Devan to fall back and take position in the beaver dam. He looked up to where Satin Flowers was stationed high in the gum tree with his crossbow. He couldn’t see Meera Reed or Swampy Meg, though he knew they were near, probably among the cattails. Soon the enemy would close on their position. As he fought on, Jon felt the fever of battle descend upon him. His mouth watered for blood. His muscles grew tingly, and everything become monochrome with splashes of red and yellow. As it did, thoughts of Val, of what might happen to her if he fall, disappeared.</p>
<p>He had written up a last will and testament and charged the men of his small council, which now consisted of Edd Tollet, Pyp, Satin, Devan, and Tormund Giantsbane, with delivering and enforcing it. Should he die, Val would rule the Freefolk, and Arya would rule the Northern houses until Rickon came of age. Jon had of course considered leaving the North to Sansa, but she had chosen to turn against his rule and declare herself queen of the “Northern Territories,” as of a raven sent by Arya. He didn’t believe Sansa had planned this on her own – he refused to believe it. She was surrounded by charlatans, dark spirits and villains – had been since she had left home for the capital years ago. They were bound to steer her against him at some point – but he couldn’t allow himself to think of that. The important thing was the security of his wife, who he hoped would follow his orders and take herself and their unborn child to Greywater Watch until this issue with the Hangwoman was resolved one way or another.</p>
<p>            These concerns departed Jon’s mind as he plunged Longclaw into the gullet of a shovel-faced Ironborn soldier. The man opened his mouth wide as he died, and Jon saw that he had no tongue. As he died, his pale eyes turned black. Jon ducked another man’s sword and shielded himself from an arrow, before slicing the man’s neck to the bone, turning, and hacking off the finned arm of a deep one. He shoved his shield into its mouth when it went to devour him, and skewered its belly three times before taking a mighty swing and lopping off the top of its skull. Red and black blood flowed over his gloves, into his eyes and mouth. A man tackled him, and he bit into that man’s cheek, tasting his blood before plunging his dagger into his armpit then into his neck. A fin slashed at his middle, scoring his cuirass, and again slashing open his breeches and cutting into his thigh. He plunged Longclaw into the top of its head, and it managed to fling him fifty feet before he landed in a patch of stinking rotted bladderworts. He rose with sword and shield still in hand and rushed forward again, salivating, heaving, a growling whine deep in his throat.</p>
<p>            He slogged his way to the top of the ridge, just in time to see another battalion approaching – deep ones and Ironborn both – hundreds deep. He saw Northern and Freefolk bodies strewn among those of the enemy. He tasted blood and salt and bogwater. Suddenly, the golden color of the cottonwood leaves made Val come to mind, and the desire to touch her again flowed into him in a gush. It was as if he could feel her hands, soft and yet lethal, caressing the skin of his belly just about the root of this cock where a little hair grew, her fingers tracing sparse hairs up to his navel and then to his breastbone. He recalled her fingers kneading the sore and tired muscles of his neck and shoulders after a day of work, how they unknotted at her touch. The taste of her lips in the dark of their room, her swollen belly pressing against his firm flatness – their little one nestled between them, sleeping silently. Her heat and the sound of her breathing and the smell of her hair as he slept with his arm around her. The dark magic she could weave in the moonlight reflected on metal with blood and spit and semen.</p>
<p>All sounds of life in the swamp had hushed when the battle began to rage, but now Jon thought he could hear it again, loud as ever. Suddenly, it all formed into a song, a chorus of women’s voices saying, <em>it’s time, it’s time, it’s time</em>. Jon stood upon the edge of the ridge, sheathed his sword, and planted his shield in the soft peat in front of him.</p>
<p>“Sire,” Alysane Mormont was saying beside him. “What now?”</p>
<p>“Fall back,” Jon said.</p>
<p>“Your grace?” The she-bear said. “We can hold out.”</p>
<p>Toregg the Tall came to the other side of him then, black blood all caked in his red beard, but Jon could not hear what he was saying. The swamp was talking over them. Two invisible strings descended from the sky and attached themselves to Jon’s hands, pulling them up, slowly, away from his sides. He opened his hands to the heavens, and the swamp seemed to boil and froth. In that moment, a lizard lion emerged from the swamp waters between Jon and the approaching battalion. Then another – and another. Lizard lions poured from the north between the birches and cottonwoods, and from the south amid cattails and lily pads. They emerged by twos and threes, and at unsettling speeds, fell upon the deep ones and the Ironborn. Some of the enemy were pulled by the legs into the water, which turned purple with their blood. Some were snatched into the mud as they attempted to run, their legs breaking in powerful jaws that came down upon the flesh like axes. Lizard lions lurched past the stout legs of Alysane as if she were nothing more than a thick tree. Toregg clutched his spear as if to drive it into the back of one of the beasts, but Jon caught his eye, and he stopped short. The lizard lions took their enemies down one after another, twisting and turning in the mud in order to rend their bodies into bite-size pieces. They lashed their tails to break bones and crush skulls. Only the deep ones emitted screams, low creaking screeches that pierced the air.</p>
<p>A few members of the enemy battalion still attempted to advance, seeing there was no escaping the hoard of deadly jaws and tails. Some were managing to escape, either because they were lucky or had been able to slip the lizard lions’ mouths in the tumult. Jon looked up to the sky, a hazy ochre with the onset of dusk, and heard it whispering to him. A swirling maelstrom formed above them, and Jon reached up one hand as if to clutch it. The cloud grew larger and began to close in. It was a giant flock of ravens and eagles – birds who were usually solitary, and usually rivals, joined together in a dark swarm. Jon lowered his hand again, and pointed at his enemies. The birds descended on those remaining Ironborn and fish men, clawing at their faces, plucking out eyeballs. The screams of the fish men were drowned in the shrill calls of the birds. If these Ironborn weren’t blind before, many of them were now. In a panic, their hands over their eyes, they ran into one another and over one another. In the end, they fell into the open maws of still-feasting lizard lions.</p>
<p>The invisible strings took hold of Jon’s hands again, holding them out to the sides, but this time, he turned his palms down toward the swamp. The waters teeming with smaller life now spoke to him, an ecstatic laughing chatter, almost joyful, that tickled his ears. Again the waters bubbled and swirled, and poisonous snakes slithered forth in shiny rivulets – hundreds of them, thousands. <em>Are you doing this? Jon…it’s you, isn’t it</em>, Toregg was saying, booming to be heard over the deep ones’ shrieking. He and Alysane did a dance together as the snakes slid over their feet, but the snakes were not interested in them. Some of the enemy were on the run, disappearing in the distance, but most would not make it back to the Stony Shore before the pain and sickness took them. Jon felt the swamp sigh with ecstasy and relief, heard it through the leaves of the she-oaks and the waving of rushes and witch hair, smelled it in the fragrance of boneweed and loosestrife. It seemed to caress him, to cradle his head in its arms, to run its fingers over his hair and kiss his scalp. Jon felt the battle fever leaving him, and his muscles hummed in praise.</p>
<p>“They’re retreating,” Alysane said. “They’re on the run!”</p>
<p>She began to laugh, and then she and Toregg hugged in celebration. Toregg attempted to lift the she-bear high in the air, misread her weight in proportion to his great height, and collapsed backward into the wet moss like a felled tree. Jon smiled, feeling for the first time in a long time that he would never be alone.</p>
<p>That night, as Jon’s body slept, Ghost came face to face with his sister in the woods beside the Green Fork. They had called to each other for hours, one howl for another, following the sounds until golden eyes met red in the moonlight that fell dappled through the old oaks. Together they ran in circles between the trees, nipping at each other’s ears, jumping on each other’s back, rolling together in the soft brown carpet of leaves and pine needles, mouthing each other but not biting, yipping with excited delight. They frolicked until dawn bled over white and grey fur. The sister had to return to her pack, and though part of Ghost’s heart followed her, he knew he had to tend to his own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Benioff &amp; Weiss. <em>Game of Thrones</em>. Season 6, Episode 9: “Battle of the Bastards,” HBO, 2016.</p>
<p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Coppola, Francis Ford. <em>The Cotton Club</em>, Zoetrope Studios, 1984.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am writing in a limited POV style like Martin's, which is a suffocating way to write. I have thought of a lot of neat scenes that don't fit into the POV limits I set for myself, or don't move the story along quickly enough to include in the series. I will write these out if someone requests it. If you like this story, and would like to see a scene that got skipped or glossed over, OR that is in the POV of someone who is not a Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon, Greyjoy, or Lannister, let me know what you'd like to see, and I will make a Wheel of Westeros B-side out of it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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